Rise of an Avenger
by thrillerartist
Summary: I'm reminded of a chilling line from the Ash Wednesday masses I was forced to attend at St. Agnes. Remember you are dust, and to dust, you shall return. How fitting that line has become. Numbly, I collapse to my knees. The air feels to thick to breath, and my chest feels like someone had ripped my heart out and crushed it in front of my eyes. In a way, someone did.


**Rise of an Avenger **

**by thrillerartist **

**NOTE: I DO NOT OWN _MARVEL: AGENTS OF SHIELD_!**

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**WARNING! THIS STORY CONTAINS MOMENTS OF DEPRESSION, ALCOHOLISM AND ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT! **

**IF THIS TRIGGERS ANYTHING FOR ANYONE _DO NOT READ THIS!_**

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_**Author's Note: **_

_**So I've been rereading some of my stuff, and realized that this story had much to be desired. Lots of misspellings, plot holes, and missing dialogue. **_

_**Since then, I've done come corrections on some parts of the story, and extenstions on others.**_

_**Hope that it's better. **_

**_-thrillerartist_ **

* * *

It all started with a call for help. A new Inhuman had supposedly emerged in the middle of the city, and was causing massive tornados and windstorms. Abby and I asnwered that distress call, because we were the only active inhumans working for SHIELD at the moment. Yo-Yo was still recovering from her latest surgery to perfect her bionic arms, and May was still away with Coulson. Mack geared up the quinjet to take us to Boston, where the alert had been sent. All the way there, I kept seeing more and more videos and news articles about freak storms in the middle of Boston, where supposedly a sixteen year old boy was in the middle of it.

We were running through the streets of downtown Boston. I had opted to go alone, but my stubborn little sister had begged me to take her along, claiming that she was ready to go into the field. I was strongly against it (she was only fifteen, after all!).

But...I couldn't deny that I said those words too, at one time.

Of course, I was dead wrong. There is nothing in the training room that can truly prepare you for what you could face in the field, no matter how many times you ran a drill or threw your sparring partner to the mat. I was hoping that a quick rescue mission would wake Abby up to that fact.

When we got to Boston, we pinged the location of the boy via his cellphone-even running for his life he couldn't bear to let go of it, I guess. The winds were rough when we flew through the city, and we knew that the worse the weather got, the closer we were to the boy.

When we landed, the sky looked like it was ready to downpour. Thunder boomed in the distance, and I saw the tell-tale flashes that indicated lightning was on its way towards us. We got out of the quinjet, and immediately, my ears popped from the change in air pressure. The air was heavy with humidity, and even though the wind was blowing heavily, I felt sweat drip down the small of my back.

The boy's phone signal led us to a park a few blocks from his last known location-his house, an apartment in Chinatown. We were en route, until a police cruiser was headed towards us. The car was blaring its sirens, headed straight towards us, and I held out my hand. A steady stream of sonic energy pushed the car away from us. I was hoping that the driver would have a better chance to use their brakes, but still the car careened with the building next to us, and I realized that the drive hadn't even bothered to stop. Either he was targeting us, or...

Something caught my attention. The wind that was roaring a few moments ago had died down almost immediately, and flakes of dust were circling in what was left of it.

I ran to the car, to check on the driver and his passenger, but it was completely empty, save for a few flakes of ash on the driver's seat.

Somthing wasn't right. Either there were people in this car, or someone was controlling the car from-

"Daisy?" Abby called to me, interrupting my confused thoughts. "Something's wrong." Abby said.

I turn around to face Abby, who had followed me to the car. Her olive skin had turned an ashen color, and she seemed unsteady on her feet. She took a step towards me, and collapsed. I caught her in my arms, and saw a sight that would haunt me forever.

Her legs had begun to disappear, turning to dust before my eyes. Like a dying pixelated videogame character, parts of Abby flaked off of her body, disappearing into the air.

"I don't feel good." Abby whimpers. I hold her tightly in my arms, one arm around her back, and the other pressing her head into my shoulder. I was determined to keep her with me, and held her as tight as I could without hurting her. I didn't know what was going on, and I didn't know how to stop it, but I wanted to keep her with me. I wanted to protect her, and the only way I felt I could do that was to hold her tight.

I guess that's all you can do, sometimes.

"It's going to be okay." I say, even though I know it's not true. Even though I know it's a lie, and that I promised myself I'd never lie to her again. But what else was I supposed to say? What else could you tell someone who was turning to dust before your very eyes?

Abby buried her face into my chest, and I could feel tears wet my shirt. She's not much of a crier these says, having cried so many when we took that Roadtrip From Hell just two years ago. She's fifteen now, but this is the first time I noticed just how grown up she was.

The last time I saw her, _truly_ saw her, she was a scared thirteen year-old girl.

Her legs are gone, and she grips me tighter, whimpering in fear. When it reaches her chest, she wriggles out of my arms, and says to me with tears in her eyes, "I love you, sis."

And then she's gone, blown away in a cloud of ash and dust.

She's gone.

She's...gone...

I paw at the air, trying to catch pieces of what she's become, as if I could put her back together if I had enough of her.

But, in the cruel way fate is, she is taken away by the wind, and vanishes into the air forever.

And it's then that I'm reminded of a chilling line from the Ash Wednesday masses the nuns at St. Agnes had forced us kids attend.

_Remember you are dust, and to dust, you shall return._

How fitting that line has become.

How ironic.

Numbly, I collapse to my knees. The air feels too thick to breath, and my chest feels like someone had ripped my heart out and crushed it in front of me.

In a way, someone did.

I had failed to protect my little sister, who was not my blood, but whom I still loved like family.

Family...

I don't know how long I stay there on the ground but at that word, I get to my feet and spring through the park, back to the city buildings, looking for anyone else. I didn't know what happened to Abby, but I knew she wasn't the only one.

I ran back to the quinjet, only to find it empty. Mack had flown us here, but if he was gone, then that could only mean...

_No. No, no, no! _

I backed away from the quinjet, covering my mouth in shock, my legs feeling shaky and weak.

I had no way to get back to the base, except by stealing an empty car. I prayed, something I never did, that there was someone left at the base. That there would be at least one friendly face to meet me once I got there.

But there was no one, except for a few trainees that May had been teaching. Jemma wasn't on the base at the time, so I didn't know if she was alive. May was still away with Coulson on Tahititi...

In short, there was no one left for me on the base. That didn't mean I gave up, though. No, I waited for someone from my team to come to the base. I kept myself busy otherwise. I helped the refugees who were misplaced. I was there when the Avengers told the world what had happened. "A Madman named Thanos had collected a bunch of magical rocks, and used them to wipe out half of the life of the universe", is basically what they told the world. "We couldn't stop him, we weren't strong enough", was their underlying statement. What happened to the world wasn't in anyone's control, not even the Avengers.

One month, then two, and before I knew it, six months had passed, and there was no word from any members of my team. No May, no Jemma. Mack was gone, and Yo-Yo was MIA. Fizt and Coulson, as far as I knew, were both dead.

There was never a call, there was never any message. As far as I knew, my family was dead and gone, and I was the only surviving member of it.

Was there anything left for me here? I had no friends, no family...no sister.

Every day, I walked by her bunk, staring at the haphhadard mess she always left it. School books were sprawled all over her desk, her bed was a mess of sheets and blankets, and dirty laundry was overflowing in her hamper.

But it was her room. Abby's room.

Empty.

Dusty.

Dark.

Cold.

Everyday, for six months, I would walk past it, staring into it, and feel all the more alone and ashamed. I knew what a downward spiral felt like, I'd gone through it before, but this time, I had no one to help me get out of it. No one to help me stop myself.

No more family. No more friends.

There was no longer a reason to stay at SHIELD.

And so, being the person that I am, I decided that I would be better working alone for a while. Away from this place that was once home, but now only caused pain.

SHIELD wasn't one to go on revenge missions, and neither am I, usually. But my entire family was stripped from me in a matter of seconds. The Avengers may have failed, but the world still needed someone to take action for the chaos that would surely follow this shit-storm.

It was time, once again, to take on the persona of Quake.

* * *

**Five Years Later...**

**New Jersey, NJ **

_"Remember, you were made from ashes, and to ashes you shall return."_

_A flash of brown hair, pale olive skin, green eyes filled with tears. _

_"I love you, Sis."_

_Fire, burning bright. _

_"I promise, I'll see this through with you to the end."_

_Pain. All over. _

_It's cold. I'm laying in the snow, hurt and bleeding. _

_"I'll protect you, and I won't ever let anything bad happen to you."_

_The mask of a monster is looming down on me, taunting me. _

_"I love you, Sis."_

_The air turns gray from the clouds of ashes rolling down towards me where I lay. _

_"Daisy? Something's wrong..."_

I wake with a start in the back of my van, cold sweat sticking my hair to my face. Panting, I hold my head in my hands, trying to regain my breath. My hands are slick with perspiration, and I can feel the beat of my own heart in my fingertips. I look out the window of my van, and only see the dark of the night.

_Yeah, you're probably not getting back to sleep anytime soon, _I thought, grabbing my boots and slipping them on. I shrug on my leather jacked, and get out of the van. I start walking up the alley, towards the street, and pull on my beanie as I do so. On nights like these, when even after days of bringing down crime-networks, and disabling illegal sites on the Dark Web, I find I am still unable to sleep. Instead, I get up and prowl the streets in the shadows, a guardian angel shrouded in darkness.

I turn left, and start walking up the street, deeper into the city, where I know there's bound to be trouble at this hour of night. Or is it morning?

The sidewalk here is cracked in many places, and tags litter the walls of alleys in between buildings. Streetlights glow a dark orange color, a sign that they're dure for a lightbulb change. in the sky, clouds cover the moon and stars, separating the world from light. My shadow casts an eerie companion as I walk, alone, a target for anyone who dares to have bad intentions.

Little do they know, they are, in fact, _my_ target.

Ahead of me, there's a tall, burly man wearing nondescript clothing, smoking a cigarette, leaning on a street sign, seemingly waiting for a bus. Beside him walks a young woman who is stumbling down the street in a short skirt and high heels. As she walks by, his eyes linger on her, before he takes another puff before putting it out on his shoe. He starts walking behind her.

"Hey there, sweetheart, are you alright?" He calls after her, running to catch up. He puts his hand on her back, leading her up the street.

A chill runs through my veins.

I'm familiar enough with trouble to know it when I see it.

Continue walking the way I am, but tail the man from a safe distance, just waiting to see if he'll decide to lay his hands on her. I know what the situation could end up being, but I want to be sure before I do anything. The last thing I want is to start beating people up because of what they _might _do. That would make me no different than...Than certain people I've faced over the years.

The woman stumbles, catching herself on the wall of a building beside her, and the man takes her by the shoulders. I can see the force of his grip, as he leads her left, down a gap between two buildigns. I slow my pace, silenceing my footsteps, and cling to the shadows. I follow the man down into the alley, waiting for him to make his move.

Already, I feel a change within me, a fury that never leaves me, a desire to protect that has never went away, no matter how much I sometimes want it to.

_Just leave, _a darker part of me says. _It's not your problem. You're not an agent anymore, you can't be doing stuff like this. _

But I've seen too much to just walk away. Like I said, if I only got involved in issues that only concerned me, then that would make me no better than the enemies I've faced.

I crouch behind a stack of trashbags, my black attire allowing me to blend in perfectly. Peeking over the top, I see the man laying the young woman on the ground by the dumpster. I notice that she's not moving, and I notice him make a move for his belt.

White hot anger courses through me, and I make my presence known.

"Hey, Douchebag!" I yell, emerging from my hiding place. "You'd better stop what you're doing, before I wreck you."

The man stands up straight, and I take in just how tall and thick he really is. He looks like a bodybuilder with all his muscle and height, but he looks akward, like he never really grew into himself.

"Oh, really?" Douchebag says calmly, stepping over the unconscious woman like the garbage she's surrounded by. That doesn't help my anger subside.

"And just what do you think you're gonna do?" Douchebag asks me. He pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants, and flashes it at me. "Just run along, or I'll paint this alley with your brain splatter!"

The threat is so cliche, so overdone, that I almost laugh._ How typical,_ I think. _Hiding behind guns and threats. _

I just hold out my hand, and blast him into the wall in the back. He slams into the brick and lands in an open dumpster. I think he's down at first, but I hear a rattling noise, and see him climb out of it. I can't see him very well in the darkness, but I can feel his eyes on me. I hear a telltale click, and I know he's loaded his gun, ready to fire it at any moment.

"I know what you are." He growls. "You're that inhuman freak, Quake. I wonder, would I get a reward for turning one in for the government to study? Or would they prefer a live specimen?"

_Really? _I raised an eyebrow andf rolled my eyes. _You need to get some new material, buddy. _

"That sure is a lot of syllables, Pal." I said, unfazed. I take one step towards him, then another, until I'm standing in front of the unconscious woman. In the little light there is, I see him back away towards the wall. I can practically smell his fear in the air. He aims the gun at my head, but it trembles in his grasp. His finger grips the trigger, and I know that with a man who twitches this much, it's bound to go off. Still, I am unmoved. What difference would it make, anyway, if she shot me now? It's not like I have much left to live for.

"If I were you," I say in a deadly tone, holding out my right hand again. It's sore from my old wounds, and weak from the strain of channeling seismic vibrations, but he doesn't know that. "I would run in the opposite direction. Because if you stay here, I will beat you so hard, the only way people will be able to identify you is through DNA analysis."

And just like that, the man drops the gun at his feet. It goes off, and I see the flash, feel a familiar sting in my cheek. I bring my left hand to my cheek, and my fingers come away sticky and warm. A bullet from his gun grazed my face.

Another scar to add to my collection.

Douchebag takes a tentative step to the side, and when he sees that I don't move, he runs up the alley, towards the street.

I don't let him get that far. I turn and blast the ground, letting the blast tremble so hard that he falls. There's a telltale _thud _that tells me he's fallen and hit his head. I walk to his thick body, but he doesn't move, and I don't see any blood pooling around him. He's still breathing, so he must just be out cold.

The woman begins to stir at my feet. Blearily, she opens her eyes and slurs "wha...?"

"It's okay." I saw, leaning down to her. I check her pulse, and notice that it's slow and weak, and her skin is clammy. She's definitely in the beginning stages of alcohol poisoning.

"Who...you?" The woman slurs again.

I simply turn away from her, and head back towards the alley, deciding not to give her an answer.

I push him to the side of the alley with my powers, and pull a roll of ultra strength ductape from my jacket. I use it to hogtie his hands and feet together, completing him with a strip over his mouth and eyes.

I return to the woman, and pick her up in a fireman's carry. Taking her to a bus stop a block away from the Douchebag, I lay her down on the bench, before I go rifling through her purse for her phone. I use her fingers to dial the police. Luckily, this would seem like she called 9-1-1 herself.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" A voice asks. I don't say anything.

"Hello?" The voice asks. "Are you hurt? Do you know your location?"

The woman grumbles something inaudible, but the person on the other line is able to hear it.

"I'm going to track your location, just stay on the line. Help is on the way."

Leaving business finished here, I duck into the shadows once again, and begin walking in the opposite direction, back towards my van.

* * *

I open the door to my van It's not locked, and it never is. Who would want to steal it, anyway? The thing's practically falling off the wheels from all the rust and grime its accumulated over the years. Not an ideal get away car, or jackpot for the scrappers. I'll have to replace my wheels soon, anyway, so it's not like it matters much.

Inside the back of the van is a sleeping back and pillow, a backpack with my old computer, a sweatshirt balled up in the corner. In a secret compartment that's supposed to hold the spare tire is a bag of guns and spare bullets, a hunting knife I bought from a pawn shop a few weeks ago, and a bottle of cheap vodka. I climb into my little mobile home, open the compartment, and rifle around for the bottle. It's sad, I know, the great Daisy Johnson drinking her days away, but it's the only thing that helps me get through the days without wanting to hate myself...at least for a short while.

At first, I was self-medication for when I would accidentally break my bones and tear muscles apart with my powers. Then it became a means to help me get to sleep and stay asleep. After a while, it became the only thing I could look forward to at the end of the day.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her face, hear her voice, and remember her smile, her laugh. I relive good days, good memories, sometimes even no so good ones, but still, they're with her, and in the dreams, I'm happy. Abby's safe, healthy, _alive_, and I'm happy because of it. And then there are the nightmares, like tonight, where I'm took weak and powersless to help her. Where all I see are flashes of her, relive the pain I went through to keep her safe, remember the promise to her that I couldn't keep. All of that only to wake up to the fact that she's gone, and I couldn't protect her, couldn't keep her safe when she needed me the most. So, yes, I turned to drinking. I didn't mean to, but here I am. Imagine yourself in _my_ shoes before you say you wouldn't do such a thing. You _never_ know how hard grief can be until you've had to experience it yourself.

Just as I unscrew the bottle, I hear a creaking noise coming from outside. I set the vodka down and pull my switchblade from my boot. I don't like to use my powers on homeless looking for places to crash. Since I got injured protecting Abby from the Watchdogs, my right arm can only quake for so long before it starts to hurt again. I can't take anymore unecessary risks of using my powers unless they're needed (what happened tonight was an exception, since the guy was bigger than me).

"Hey, pal," I say in a raised voice, "Get away from my van before I kick you to the curb myself!" I open the door, only to reveal a face I haven't seen in five years. I didn't even know she was alive until now.

"Jemma?" I ask, not believing my eyes for a second.

There she was, my brilliant, brainiac, British best friend. I thought she was dead. She very well could just be a figment of my imagination, as sign that I've finally gone off the deep end.

"Jemma?" I ask again, the knife wavering in my grasp. " Is it really you, or am I finally going crazy?"

"It's really me, Daisy." Jemma says. She hasn't flinched once, even though there's a knife in her face. I know that I should drop it, but for some reason, I don't believe it's really her. How did I know this wasn't some sick trick? How did I know that this was, indeed, my long lost friend. Why didn't she come back to base? Why didn't she tell me she was still alive?

It had to be a dream.

I grip my knife again, and hold it firm in my hand.

"Tell me something only you would know." I say, my voice shaking involuntarily. "What's one thing I do that annoys you the most?"

"A number of things, actually." Jemma says, her eyes lighting up with thoughtfulness. "I made a list of them a long time ago, ranging from alphabetical order, starting with 'A', as in 'Always-Getting-Out-of-Bed-Before-Recovery', 'B', as in-"

"Yeah, it's you alright." I say as I fold the knife back into the hilt, and tuck it back into my belt. "Come on it, before someone sees us."

As Jemma climbs into the van, and closes the door behind her, I grab the bottle of vodka, and unscrew the cap.

"So, what do you want?" I ask beore I a long drink from the bottle.

Jemma stares at the bottle for a second, before saying, "I want you to come back." Simple words, but with her eyes, I could see concern and the pity in her gaze.

I take another drink, if only just to spite her. I grunt "No way" as the cheap liquor burns its way down my throat.

Jemma sighs, "Daisy-"

Why are you resurrecting SHIELD in the first place?" I snap. My skin feels flushed, a sign that I'm on my way to numbness. "That agency's old news, and everyone knows it." I look at the bottle in my hands as I say defeatedly, "The world can only take so many failures before it gives up completely."

For a moment, Jemma's quiet, before she asks, "Is that whay you've done?".

I scoff. "I've _moved on_, Jemma. So let me be." I lean back against the door of the van, and take another long swig of the drink. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning, and the alcohol is taking its toll on me quicker than usual.

Once again, Jemma registers the bottle in my hand. "Is this what you think Abby would want?" She snaps.

I slam down the bottle in frustration, not caring that it shatters in my hand and cuts my fingers. "_Don't. Go. There._" I growl, glaring at my friend with fiery eyes. "_I know_ this isn't what she would want, Jemma. But _she's not here_, is she? And since when do you care? You didn't even let me know you were alive. No call, no signal, no message of the slightest that let me know you were okay. So yeah, I left SHIELD. Why wouldn't I? I'm trying to move on, and get past the ball of shit SHIELD turned my life into."

Jemma looks hurt at my words, and for a moment, I regret saying them. Then Jemma's face hardens in anger, and she grabs my hand, and holds it up in front of my face. "_This_ is getting past it?" She snaps in her clipped British accent. "Taking down thugs in the streets and then drinking your days away?" Jemma drops my hand in disgust, and says " ou're a _shell_ of yourself, Daisy, and I know for a fact that Abby would be ashamed to see her older sister like this."

That gets my attention, despite the cloudiness that's rolled in on my mind. I grab Jemma's blouse with my bloody hand, and bring her close until we're practically nose-to-nose.

"I already told you not to go there" I say in a deadly tone. "You weren't there, you weren't around after she...when..." My voice cracks as my throat closes up, and before I can force them back, tears begin to seem from my eyes.

_Stop it. _I say to myself _What good will crying do you? _

At first, Jemma doesn't say anything, and slowly, she forces my fingers

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was still alive. I was isolated, looking for Fitz, and when the world...when it happened, I was on an island in the pacific that was barely populated. I was stuck there for months, waiting for rescue. By the time I got back to SHIELD, you were already gone. The same thing happened to May."

"May's alive?" I ask in surprise.

Jemma nodded. "After Coulson died, she stayed on the island for a while longer. When The Snap happened, Tahiti was practically wiped out. She spent the rest of her time there helping the island recover. Daisy, I'm sorry, you'll never know how sorry I am that I couldn't come back sooner. That I couldn't be there for you when you needed me...but _this_." Jemma motioned around the van, and pointed at the tiny gash on my face. "This isn't how things should be, Daisy." Jemma says softly. "This isn't how it needs to be. I know things have changed, but-"

I laugh in her face, letting her go, "Finally, something we can agree on!" I say, opening my secret compartment to look for more to drink. I _know _there's a bottle of whiskey in here, or somthing...

"Look," I say, " this may not be what we did when we were with SHIELD, but this is how things are now. Half the world is gone, yet there are still gangs and criminals supplying drugs and laundering money, instilling corruption and kidnapping children, harassing people on the streets in the dead of night." I say, all too quickly, my hand becoming frantic in its search. "I'm just taking out the trash so that the people in charge can try to rebuild the world a little better, without scum of the earth taking what wasn't thiers in the first place."

"Fine." Jemma sighed.

My hand closes around a small bottle of something, and I bring it up in victory. It's a tiny bottle of gin I got a few weeks ago from a hotel bar, when my van was getting fixed up. I open it, and take a large gulp, ignoring how my eyes begin to water from the strength of it. My mind was starting to wander, and that something that I was trying to do less of, lately. Let your mind wander too far, and you end up in a dark place.

"Why are you really here?" I ask skeptically, resting the bottle on my leg and leaning back against the seat.

Jemma pauses, as if weighing her words carefully. She looks at the new bottle, at my bleeding hand, before she looks at me again. "Me and a few of SHIELD's survivors have been recieving chatter across some of the old channels. Chatter from the Avengers." She says.

My stomach drops, and that fire of anger inside me lights up anew. I wasn't really a fan of the Avengers these days. "What are they up to _now_?" I ask, moving to take another sip, but Jemma takes the bottle from my hand before it reaches my lips.

"We believe they're trying to bring everyone back." Jemma says. My attention is focused on the bottle in her hand, at the fact that she hasn't moved to dump it out, and I feel like a child whose favorite toy was taken away.

"How they're going to do that," Jemma continues, "I'm not sure, but it they succeed, the world is about to get much larger. Meaning that so will the...extra normal problems. May and I, we're trying to rebuild SHIELD, what we can, at least."

I clench my fist, feeling the blood drip through my fingers. "Don't give me hope, Jemma. Abby's gone, Mack's gone, Coulson's gone-but we all knew that would happen. There's...I'm tired, Jemma. I'm tired of the fighting, of getting shot at, and I'm tired of losing those that I love. I'm done, Jemma. There's nothing left for me in SHIELD."

Jemma sighs, and I think that she's finally going to leave. "At least help us get the computer systems back online." She practically begs me. "We're holed up in the Lighthouse right now-"

"Cyber-May blew that up five years ago."

"And we've spent that past five years rebuilding it and fortifying it." Jemma replies. "You should see the place for yourself. Mack would've been proud to see it. I know May would love to see you again, if only for a few days. She's been worried about you. We all have."

"No." I say stubbornly. "I'm not going, and you can't make me."

"I thought you might say that." Jemma sighs, before grinning slightly. My heart dropped in fear. I knew that look all too well. "Which is why I took the liberty of calling the police and informing them that Quake might be staying in a van," Jemma said, "like this one, with the plate number XV2Y17...Wait, that's _your_ plate number, isn't it?" Jemm raised her eyes in false shock. "I estimate that they'll be here any second now, so you may want to choose quickly."

I clench my teeth in anger. The last thing I wanted, even to go back to SHIELD, was to end up it jail with people I'd helped put there.

"_Fine_." I growl. "I'll come, just to get your stupid computers back online. But then I'm out of the game, Jemma. For _good_ this time."

Jemma smiles, and presses something on her ear. "This is Director Simmons. We are ready for extraction, at my position."

Immediately, I feel my van being pulled at breakneck speed into the air by an unknown force.

I lost the only liquor I had in my system because of that.

* * *

Landing in the Zyphyr was more more stomach-churning than I remember, but maybe that was just the cheap alchohol...and the fact that I didn't havce anything else in my system.

Jemma opened the door, and hopped out, carefully stepping over my sick mess. I stepped out behind her, my feet and stance unsteady.

I sensed a presence in front of me, and when I lifted my head, there was May. She looked mad, and I thought she was going to slap me. I don't think I would've felt much if she did. I was so disoriented from the rapid vertical flight that all I remember is her hugging me then she hugged me, saying that she was glad to see me. I didn't hug her back, I just couldn't find the strength to lift my arms. And then, like the mother she can be, May absolutely chewed me out for having run away, and for mistreating myself, and going after dangerous people on my own, and drinking. Really, it wasn't anything I haven't heard before...aside from the drinking part, that is.

A young agent showed me to my old bunk. Apparently, no one's touched it since I left, except to clean it.

I threw my bag on the bed, and sank onto the mattress. It felt good to lay down on something soft. The nausea I'd felt a few minutes before had finally subsided, and I was starting to feel that old craving for the booze once again. There was too much going through my head right now, and I desperately wanted to go to sleep. But I knew that without a little something first, I wouldn't be able to get any real rest. I left my bunk to go and look for the scotch that Coulson always kept in his desk. Surely, Jemma couldn't have gotten rid of that. Even a director needs something to make the bad days less terrible.

But the desk was full of office supplies and reports. I decided to leave and try the kitchen, but just as I was closing up the desk, somone asks, "Looking for something?"

I look up with a start, and see May in the doorframe.

"Uhh..." I stumbled. "Just...just looking for a pencil."

May snorts. "Since when do you write anything that's not on a screen?" She's holding something behidn her back, and pulls it out for me to see. It's the bottle of scotch Coulson kept in his desk.

"You're looking for this." It's not even a question, because May's too good at reading me.

"Did Loose-Lips Jemma tell you about my little habit?" I snap, suddenly very hostile and annoyed at my old mentor. I slam the drawers to the desk shut, and march up to her. I flick my eyes to the bottle, and then back to her.

"So, what?" I ask, venom in my voice. I'm exhausted, I haven't slept-really slept-in weeks, and I'd just been forcibly recalled into service at an agency I wanted no part of anymore.

"You gonna dump that out in front of me, or something?" I snap. "Or are you just gonna hide it from me until l start behaving?" May kept a straight face the whole time, before her hand reached up towards my face. I thought she was going to hold my face, until she grabbed by ear with her thumb and forefinger, and dragged me out of the room by it.

"Ouch!" I shout, stumbling to keep up with her. My head was ducked in an uncomfortable position, and it was hard to walk straight because of it.

"What the hell, May?" I shout.

She stays silent-classic May-and drags me into the bathroom, and plants me in front of the mirror.

"Take a look at yourself." May says sternty. "A good look."

I begin to say, "What's the-"

"Look at yourself, Daisy!" May snaps.

I raise my eyes to the mirror, a little shocked at the face that greeted me. I haven't looked into a real mirror in months, relying only on the reflections in screens and windows.

My face wore a hardened expression, and dirt and sweat streaked my face. There was a long scratch on my right cheek from where the bullet grazed me last night. There was a scar above it, which I gained a few years prior. My normally olive complexion was paler than normal, an almost sickly shade of yellow. Dark circles were pooling under my eyes, a testament to how little sleep I was getting. My hair, which had been dyed black a few months ago, was now limp and greasy. My normally oval-shaped face was sharper at the edges, my cheekbones and chin a little more defined due to weight loss.

I...I honestly don't remember what I thought of in that moment. All I remember feeling is crushing self-loathing and regret.

I felt my lip start to quiver, and I bit down on it as I turned away from the mirror in shame.

"Happy now?" I say aloud, knowing May was still staring at me. "Is this what you wanted me to do? Congrats, May, I hate myself even more now."

"I don't want you to hate yourself, Daisy." May says as she puts a hand on my shoulder. "I want you to wake up. Grief does funny things to people. Sometimes, when we're hurt enough, we end up spending the days walking around like zombies. You go about your business, not really feeling anything, not paying attention to the world outside of what your own head. I should know that better than anyone. I let myself get dragged into the void in my own head, and it cost me my marriage, and it cost me my job in the field."

"Until Coulson dragged you back." I finish her story. It's one I'd heard before, back when May was still my mentor, back when I had tried to hide from everyone after Hive.

May nodded. "Because of Coulson, I was able to piece myself back together, little by little. But I was never the same. I knew I wouldn't be, but...It was good to have the better parts of myself, because I knew that those were the parts of me that would probably never change."

"How can this compare?" I ask, tasting blood inside my mouth. I'd bit down too hard on my cheek from trying to maintain control.

"I never said it did." May says quietly, gently, as if she were talking to a little kid. I felt pitied and patronized, but I didn't care, because May has a way with words. Even though they sometimes aren't what you want to hear (as I've experienced in so, so many situations) you can't help but listen to her.

"Grief never goes away." May continues. "It only becomes less and less. Moving on is terrifying and difficult, but it has be done in order to survive. And it can't be aided by substances." May holds up the bottle of amber luquid in the mirror, and my eyes light up at the sight of it.

May walks up beside me, and sets the bottle on the sink.

"It's your call, Daisy." She says, folding her hands behind her back. "Jemma dragged you here against your will, so I understand if you feel the need to drink your frustrations away. It's up to you. Do you want to pretend your pain never happened, or do you want to actually do something about it?"

My eyes won't leave the image of the bottle, but my ears pick up the meaning of every one of May's words. Shame flutters in my gut, along with the urge to down the contents. It was Coulson's favorite scotch, one that he save for special occasions, or solemn toasts. Involuntarily, my hand reaches out, hovering over the neck of the bottle, shaking uncontrollably.

For five years, this had been my escape, my one means of getting sleep, of getting rid of my anger, my sadness. My one means of feeling remotely happy. But with every drink, every bottle, I needed more and more. I knew that continuing down that road would kill me, and a part of me didn't seem to mind dying that way. I could be with Abby again...

But Jemma's words echo through my head. _Thery're trying to bring everyone back. _

I didn't want to get my hopes up again, because I knew what that would do to me if they fell through. But...if felt good to feel hopeful again. It felt good to believe in something. Besides, if the Avengers' plan fell through, the drink would still be here for me if I wanted it. But if their plan succeeded, Abby couldn't have a drunk as an older sister, as a guardian.

Carefully, I unscrew the cap. The strong stench wafts through my nose, inviting me to down the contents.

Instead, my shaking hand tilts the bottle away from my face, towards the sink. Steel and porcelain are flooded with amber, before it slowly sinks into the drain, into the pipeline of the base.

There goes my one escape.

My hand trembles when the bottle becomes completely empty, and I drop it into the sink. It cracks, but doesn't break.

I suddenly feel out of breath.

_What did you just do? _My mind yelled. My heartrate picks up, my breath hitches, and I put a hand over my mouth, feeling tears seep out of my eyes and over my fingers.

_That was a coping mechanism. What are you going to do now? Do you know how much pain you'll be in without it? How much more can you handle before you break completely? _

I feel a hand on my shoulder that guides me out of the bathroom, towards a familiar space. I realize that I'm back in my old bunk.

"Take a deep breath, Kid." May says gently. "Noise in the background."

The old training May had pounded into my skull kicks in again, and I'm able to calm myself down again.

May nods, and tells me to wash up. While I shower-it felt _so good _to take a shower again-she grabs a change of clothes from my drawers. Once I change, she dressesmy cuts, and glues the bullet graze I got last night, before ordering me to get some sleep. I want to tell her I can't without the drink, but I can't seem to find the words.

She turns the light out in my room, and whispers, "I'm proud of you, Kid."

Then she closes the door, and I'm left alone in the dark.

* * *

My hands have typed for so long that my old scars are starting to feel sore from the exertion. If I keep up this degree of coding, I'll have carpel tunnel syndrome before I leave this place. But between amost two weeks of the shakes, nausea, and waking up in the middle of the night with cold-sweats, typing code until I couldn't feel my hands, I'd gladly take the latter.

_Just a few more lines,_ I thought, shaking away the exhaustion, _Just a few more lines, _and_ then you're done...for today, at_ least.

I made the new SHIELD computer system fully independent of all other government systems, and even took the liberty if Daisy-proofing it, just to be on the safe side. If took me a week to create it, and I'd still have to fortify the fifth wall of the firewall code, install virus and wormhole protection in the camera system-

My phone rings, interrupting my work. I stop what I'm doing to look at the caller I.D., and what I see on the screen makes my heart drop.

It's Abby's number.

For a moment, I hold the phone in my hand, it still ringing as I debated whether to answer it or not. It very well could be some jerk who came across a free cellphone and decided to scroll through the contacts. But I still had that little story Jemms told me echoing throughout my head. The possibility that it could be Abby on the other end, regardless of how impossible it may be, won out in the end.

I press the answer button, and hold the phone up to my ear. For a moment, there's only heavy breathing on the other line, and just as I'm about to hang up, a voice says

"Daisy? Is that you?"

My heart swells into my throat, and tears begin to form in my eyes. I put my hand over my mouth, and choke back my sobs.

It's Abby's voice!

I can't help but break down into tears, sobbing into the phone.

"Daisy?" Abby asks me again. "Daisy, are you there? What's wrong? Are you crying?"

I swallow my sobs, and forc eback my tearslong enough to croak, "Abby?", because I had to know if this was real. I yanked my ear to see if I was in a dream, because if this was a dream, it was the most wonderful and cruel that I've ever had.

"Yeah, it's me." Abby says, sounding relieved. "What happened?" She asks, starting her rapid-fire questioning that I never thought I'd hear again.

"I disappeared and then I was back..." Abby takes a deep breath, "and everyhting's different. Where are you? What happened?"

Immedaitely, I get up from my desk, running towards the loading bay. "Where are you?" I ask, voice cracking from crying.

"I'm in the park, where we found that boy from our rescue mission."

She was still there.

"Stay where you are!" I pratically shout into the phone. "I'm coming to get you. Stay on the phone...wait, why do you have your phone with you?"

"Eh...hehe.." Abby mumbles, clearly tryhing to make something up.

"Did you take your phone with you on our mission." I ask, not really caring about the answer. If anything, I'm glad she did.

"Ummm," Abby sounds sheepish, "Yeah...well...yeah."

"I'm glad you have it now." I say. "Stay on the line until I come and get you, okay?"

"Okay."

I grab May from her training session, and tell her I needed a lift to Boston on one of the Quinjets. She was annoyed that I interrupted her in front of the new recruits.

"Why can't you take one of the vans?" May asks, very annoyed at me. "Honestly, it's not that far to the-"

I hold the phone up to her ear and wait for the realization to dawn on her. From an arm's length away, I can hear Abby begin to ramble in the way she does when she's nervous."

May grabs the phone and holds it by her ear. In amazement, she asks to me "Is this-"

"It's her." I say, tears still in my eyes. "It worked. Whatever the Avengers did, it worked. She's back."

May turned to her students and says, "That's enough for today. Dismissed," before handing the phone back to me and running towards one of the waiting quintets.

As we took flight, I kept Abby talking on the other line the entire way, letting her know that May and I were coming, that we'd be there as soon as we could.

Less than twenty minutes later we landed in Boston Park, the same place where, five years ago, Abby had turned to dust in my arms.

The same place where my heart broke, and was beyond repair.

Until now.

May lowers the gangplank, but I run down it before it even touches the ground completely. All I'm focused on is scanning the area, looking for her.

And then I see her, standing at the water's edge, looking exactly the same as she did five years ago. Long brown hair, pale olive skin, lean frame, wearing her black tactic suit. She's holding her phone to her ear, looking around.

When she hears the whirring of the jet, she turns around.

I hang up my phone, and sprint towards her. I scoop her up in my arms, wrapping them tight around my little sister.

"Daisy!" Abby shouts in my arms. "I can't breathe!"

Tears flow down my face for the second time that day, and I sob uncontrollably onto her. I kiss her forehead, and hold her tighter.

The impossible happened. For once, someone I loved came back from death, and I was given a second change. I had my sister back, and there was nothing that could make me let go of her right now.

"I missed you." I say into her shoulder.

"I...miss...oxygen..." Abby gasps.

Laughing tears of joy, I release her from my grasp, and put my hands on her shoulders, inspecting every inch of her, looking for anoy mark or discoloration. There weren't any. No ashen skin, no discolored veins, no flaking skin.

Abby was here.

Abby was fine.

I still couldn't believe it.

"Ummm..." Abby says, breaking me from my thoughts, "No offense, Sis, but you look..."

"A mess?" I laugh at her uncertainty. "Yeah, Kid, I know. I...haven't been the same for a while."

"What happened?" Abby asks. "And why do you look older?"

I laugh at her bluntness, ignoring the moment of teasing. "There's...there's a lot I'll have to explain to you," I say, "and I'll tell you everything really soon, but now...now I'm just _really _glad to have you back, Sis."

Abby nodded, obviously still confused, and I pull her in for another hug, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and cupping the back of her head with my other hand.

I kiss her head again, and say, "I love you, Kid. You have no idea how much I missed you."

"Daisy?" Abby says. "Can we go home now?" She sounds tired, and I can't imagine how confused and out of place she must be feeling

Home. That was a funny word to me. I never had a solid home growing up. When I was on my own, "home" was four wheels and a laptop. Then it was SHIELD...and then it wasn't.

Could I have a home again? Did I even deserve this, after all that I've done, after all the mistakes and wrong turns I've taken?

I wanted so desperately for the answer to be yes.

"Absolutely." I say, releasing her, and then wrapping my arm around her shoulders, leading her back to May and the Quinjet.

"Let's go home."

**The End**


End file.
